


make no mistake of the good times and bad

by AndreaLyn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Malex Week 2020, Tropes, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25262260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: Alex Manes, undercover FBI agent, is eager to find a way into the illegal car operation in Roswell. He's got a lead in Michael Guerin, along with permission to get information by any means -- even if those means include seduction.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 41
Kudos: 155
Collections: Malex Week 2020





	make no mistake of the good times and bad

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, thank you Crystal (islndgrl777) for the amazing beta! 
> 
> Day 2 - Trope Day!

“Target acquired,” Alex says, the bone-conduction microphone picking up even this soft confirmation. He’s walking through the library aisles with a few books in hand as he moves towards his target, not taking his eyes off him. 

Not that he could. The man is hard to miss, given that most people don’t have golden curls that differentiate them from pretty much everyone else in town. With his target in sight, Alex shelves books to make it look like he’s not trying to reach any particular destination, but that he’ll come across the target in the process.

The order comes down the line midway through shelving the non-fiction returns -- _make contact, but do not pursue if target bolts. If possible, establish rapport_.

“Copy.”

He keeps moving, picking up the next pile of books for reshelving as he rounds the aisle to get his first good look at the suspect in his case. In the last month, more than two million dollars of luxury vehicles have been tied to a major crime syndicate that operates out of New Mexico. The cars are stolen, souped up, and then pushed out to waiting buyers. This man is a mechanic rumored to have a criminal past and access to a large junkyard where he could take the cars to scrub the VIN off them before reselling them.

It’s Agent Alex Manes’ job to bring the whole syndicate down, starting with Michael Guerin. 

Once he does, he can head back in Albuquerque and hang up the whole librarian shtick. The reading glasses are chic with their frameless style, and he makes the cozy sweaters look good, but he misses being in the field and using his skills for _better_ things. He could put six bullets through a target without blinking, he knows four different languages, and he’s capable of infiltration on a level that no one else in their field office can match.

Only, thanks to his background in tech, he’s been pulled up to work this case. 

Alex watches Guerin walk away towards the next aisle, eyes sliding down to the way his jeans hug his ass tightly. He’s so distracted by the view that he misses the order coming in through the earpiece. That, or he’s not entirely sure he heard them right.

“Repeat?”

_Follow the suspect. Permission granted to seduce for information, if needed._

Alex nearly trips on the shitty shag carpet on the ground of the library on his way back to the main desk to pick up more books. He turns his head towards the piece to get confirmation (even though he’s not supposed to). “Repeat one more time?” he hisses, wondering if he genuinely heard that.

_You heard me, Manes. Butter him up, get the information. You have carte-blanche to do anything you need to. Be safe. I put some protection in your motel room_.

Fucking Valenti. He’s the most annoying handler to have on this assignment _because_ he happens to be such a good friend. Alex isn’t sure that having Rosa be his handler on this job would be any better, though, because she’d just add a comment about how it’s been so long, does he need refreshers? Besides, she’s here too, she’s just not the voice over the comms.

Alex breathes out to push away the frustration, knowing that he’s not going to be at his best if he turns up at Guerin’s side with Kyle’s voice in the back of his head. Never mind that thanks to the earpiece, Kyle is literally inside his head. Hefting up the books, Alex returns to his shelving cover, getting close to Guerin again.

“Hey, can I help you with anything?” Alex asks, once he’s positioned himself close enough to ask. 

Guerin gives him a wary look, staring down at the growing pile of books in his hand. “Is that librarian code for ‘I noticed that you’re creeping around and I’m gonna call the cops on you’? Didn’t think there was a time limit on this sort of thing.”

There isn’t, but he has been here a _very_ long time. Most people would’ve picked one of the cozy chairs to start reading, but Guerin keeps stalking the shelves like he’s looking for something specific.

Given they have intel that the library is being used as the dead drop for money and information, Alex suspects that Guerin has been lurking to wait for a new deposit to be made or for a new client to sell to.

Alex puts on a happy face, the broad and happy smile he uses when he’s playing someone else. “There’s no time limit at all, but I try and make sure that all our patrons are well-cared for. I could help you out,” he offers, gesturing to Guerin as he adjusts his reading glasses, watching his behavior for clues or indications about which aisle the drops might be happening in.

“Maybe,” Guerin muses, eyeing him for a long moment. “Promise not to laugh?”

Being stuck in a backwater town like Roswell has drained most of Alex’s good humor. “I think I can manage,” he deadpans.

“I’m looking for something trashy to read during my breaks at work,” he says. “I was thinking maybe a bodice-ripper, but I haven’t been able to find anything that’s up my alley. Don’t get me wrong,” he says. “I’m all for Fabio rescuing the maiden, but I’ve read about fifty of them and they eventually feel the same.”

“So what are you after?” 

“I was thinking,” Guerin says, “that it’d be a nice change if I could find a book where Fabio ends up rescuing another equally hot Fabio-type. You got any of those?”

Alex doesn’t laugh.

He doesn’t manage speech either, taken aback by the request.

“Uhh…”

“That’s not gonna be a problem, is it?” Guerin’s tone gets dark, suddenly, and Alex has to stop himself from reaching for his gun out of habit. 

Usually when people take that tone around him, they’re spoiling for a fight. This is all just a misunderstanding and Alex is trying to figure out how to fix it without looking like a complete idiot, but also not ruining the in he’s been so perfectly given. 

“The only problem is that you’re calling them Fabios. Some of us would much rather be Brendon Uries’.”

“Some of … you,” Guerin echoes, thoughtfully. There’s a tiny noise of consideration as he lifts one of the books in his hand to cover his lips, but it doesn’t do the trick completely. Alex can still see the gleaming mirth in his eyes, selling out his delight.

Maybe the seduction play _is_ the right play on this one. 

Kyle’s usually not wrong, as much as it pains Alex to admit it. 

“I think we’ve got something,” he says, even though he’s lying out of his ass and he can only hope he does or he’ll have to come up with some bullshit excuse for why he’s a bad librarian. He gestures for Guerin to follow him to the closest computer. “Where do you work?” he asks casually, glad that Guerin had been the one to bring it up. 

“Local junkyard,” Guerin replies, following Alex and leaning his elbow on the nearest shelf. “Things get pretty boring between customers, and I’m always looking for new things to read.”

Alex types in the query, trying not to smile with delight at the lead he’s just been handed. Here, in a place of work where conversation isn’t exactly encouraged, information extraction is going to be limited. 

He needs to get him in a separate location, somewhere that he can speak freely and without it coming across as out of place in the conversation if he suddenly starts asking questions about Guerin’s clients, the type of environment he works in, and potentially working to flip him.

Honeypot, he reminds himself. 

The prospect of a good drink usually means that lips get looser and when Alex sets his mind to it, he can be very persuasive in other ways, too. He just needs to get Guerin on board. 

First, he needs to finish the search for a good romance novel. “This way,” Alex gestures, getting Guerin to follow him down one of the aisles, crouching over to pick up two battered copies of cowboy romance novels from the bottom shelf. Does he bend over in a way that means Guerin will get a good look at his ass? 

Of course he does, he has to lay the groundwork somehow.

“You’re in luck,” Alex says, setting the books on top of Guerin’s pile, images of two handsome rough and tough men adorning the top of the pile. “Come on, I’ll check you out.”

“Yeah? You promise?” Guerin retorts with a wickedly devious smirk. 

Even though Alex is supposed to be playing along, even he has boundaries. The eyeroll comes naturally, but doesn’t seem to dissuade Guerin as he follows along happily, like a puppy eager to devour its treat.

Once they return to the main counter, Alex ducks behind the desk to log into the computer, taking a few shots of Guerin’s profile with the hidden camera so Kyle and Rosa can run it back at the motel while Alex works. At the very same time, Alex takes the pile of books from Guerin to check them out, waiting until he’s halfway done to make his opening gambit. 

“Do you want to go for a drink sometime? Maybe you could tell me how you liked the book,” Alex suggests, raising his eyes to peer at Guerin from behind the glasses. 

Guerin looks him over, reaching over the counter to tug on Alex’s cable-knit sweater to gently pull him a little closer as he works his tongue over his lower lip, eyeing Alex like he’s debating what part of him to devour first. “Yeah.” It’s like he needs him close to study him, to do something

That was...easy. Really easy.

“Cool. Do you want to give me your number? I can call you,” he says, eager to get his hands on Guerin’s phone so he can clone it and get his eyes on the call history.

Unfortunately, things pivot away from easy with a sharp turn into difficult.

“Nah,” Guerin says, releasing him as he steps back, stacking his books in his arms, careful not to let them collapse. “You want to have a drink with me, you gotta earn it. Ask around now that you have my name,” he suggests once Guerin takes back his library card and places it atop the pile of books. “Then, _if_ you find me, we’ll go for a drink.” 

Alex presses his lips together, trying very hard not to look disappointed with losing the opportunity to clone his phone. He has enough information to find him, that’s true. He has the name -- Michael Guerin -- along with a recent history of book borrowing -- plenty of romance novels, some texts about experimental physics, and a few books on gardening. 

“You’re not making this easy, are you?”

Guerin shrugs as he tucks one of the romance novels in the back pocket of his jeans, as if he’s taking it for immediate consumption. “You seemed to enjoy the hunt for these books plenty,” he says, and locks eyes with Alex. “Come and hunt me down.”

Alex watches him go, not flinching at all when the voice in his head pipes up with an opinion.

_If I didn’t know any better, that sounds like a dare._

Alex exhales wearily, because Kyle’s right. It still doesn’t make it any less annoying that his groundwork is laid, but he hasn’t been able to reap any reward from it yet. “Shut up, Kyle.”

_I’m already looking into his local haunts and Rosa’s laying out something slutty for you to wear. Good work, Manes. You’ll have this solved in no time._

Alex settles back behind the desk, thinking, _if only_.

* * *

The local bar in Roswell is the Wild Pony and through asking around, Alex finds out that if he wants to find Guerin, he’s best off starting there.

Alex had gone through three different outfits before settling on a pair of tight black jeans, a maroon sweater, and his leather jacket on top of it. He’d run some gel through his hair, then spent twenty minutes staring in the mirror while tapping the eyeliner against his palm. Clearly, his lack of movement becomes a concern, because his phone buzzes with a text from Kyle.

_Whatever you’re debating, do it._

Kyle’s never wrong, so Alex does, applying wing tips to each eye.

He walks into the Wild Pony with his septum piercing in, eyeliner perfectly applied, and feeling more like himself than he usually would on assignment. 

Yet, despite the ease he feels in these clothes, the proximity to his actual personality makes him feel especially vulnerable.

It doesn’t take long to find Guerin, who sits at the bar in a way that implies he’s a steady regular here. Alex drops down on the seat beside him, making himself known by the very loud way he raps his knuckles on the bar, clears his throat, and taps the ground with his steel-toed boot.

He couldn’t scream, _look at me, I’m here_ any louder if he tried.

It does the trick, grabbing Guerin’s attention. 

“Library guy,” Guerin drawls as he looks him over, plucking the cowboy hat off his head and settling it down on the bar. “Well, then. What are you doing here?”

“Librarians aren’t allowed to drink? And it’s Alex.” 

“Not looking like that, they’re not, _Alex_ ,” Guerin says, his eyes roaming over Alex’s body with clear intent. He reaches out and brushes his blunt, dirty thumbnail against the nose piercing. Laughing, he shakes his head. “You should wear that to work.”

“And encourage patrons to manhandle me there?” Alex keeps his tone cool, playing this steadily even though he angles his body towards Guerin on the stool. He wants to come off as interested, but not desperate.

Desperate might set off warning bells.

“So it’s okay if they manhandle you here.”

“Only my favorite patrons can manhandle me,” Alex replies, and turns his neck to stretch it out. Guerin’s fingers slide over his jaw, down the line of his neck, before he pulls them away like he’s been burned. “Besides, I thought you said that I’m supposed to hunt you down.”

“I expected it to take more than a few hours, admittedly,” Guerin confesses, stretching his hand out on top of the bar, his fingers shaking from the tension in them. “You’re pretty damn clever, aren’t you?”

Alex knows that this is just the job, but the praise makes him feel alive. “You have no goddamn idea,” he promises. 

“Let me buy you a drink,” Guerin insists, turning to flag down the bartender. “So was it cleverness that made you come after me so soon, or maybe you were just desperate to see me?” He grabs the beers from the bartender, winking at her before turning back to Alex. “Don’t answer, I already know.”

Alex salutes him with the beer, playing along with ease. “Am I that obvious?”

“God, no, you’re like a fucking brick wall,” Guerin confesses, but he sounds _delighted_ about it. It’s definitely strange. “I like a puzzle, though,” he admits, and hooks his foot over the bottom of Alex’s stool to drag himself in closer, so close that Alex can feel the heat off his body. 

Alex has never had it so easy on a seduction mission, but he’s not complaining. There’s something about Guerin that makes Alex feel alive and connected, to the point that he keeps having to remind himself that this is a job.

The little voice in his head via the earpiece definitely helps with that (though right now, it’s just eager breathing, probably from Rosa because he needs to have another talk with her about muting the damn mic when she’s on).

Alex sips his beer, eyeing Guerin. “It was cleverness, not desperation. I’d like to think I’m not the kind of guy who gets desperate.”

“Must be nice,” Guerin replies. “I am.”

“Why? Because you couldn’t find the right genre of book?”

Guerin hasn’t looked away from him, those honey-amber eyes boring into him. “No,” he says, calm and smooth as anything, like a river stone rendered that way, “because there hasn’t been a single person in this town that I want to take to bed, not the way I want to with you, and it’s enough to make a man _desperate_.”

If Alex leans forward, he’ll be able to kiss Guerin. The signals he’s picking up read that he can do anything and Guerin will be in the palm of his hand. It’s exactly the place he wants to be, because he knows if he can get him alone, he’s got a chance of finding more out. 

Subtly, he reaches up to scratch his ear, prying his earpiece out as he does. This might be on-mission, but he draws a line at letting Kyle and Rosa listen to what he’s about to get up to.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Alex offers, his voice low and filled with suggestion. He feels something pooling in him, a warmth he’s hesitant to name, because he’s not supposed to get personally involved with any of his marks.

Guerin is a target.

His body might be inclined to enjoy the mission, but that doesn’t mean Alex’s brain should be on board. He needs to remind himself that what he’s doing has a purpose, and it’s not just for pleasure’s sake.

That little fact gets hard to remember when Guerin grabs at Alex’s hips and yanks him off his stool, pulling him flush against Guerin’s body. “I thought you’d never ask. My truck’s parked outside. You particular about that kind of thing?”

“Fuck no,” Alex guarantees, following after Guerin as he struggles to make it out the door without _tackling_ Guerin to pin him to the nearest horizontal surface. To fight that urge, he follows Guerin’s lead, pressing his fingertips harder against Guerin’s palm so he won’t be able to let go as they exit the bar. Guerin walks backwards without a care in the world for how many eyes are on them. 

It all feels a little like a dance.

Guerin leads, Alex follows. One, two, three, out the door, and then back, and back, and back, until Guerin spins them and Alex’s ass hits an old pick-up truck that seems to _creak_ when Alex breathes around it. 

“In you go,” Guerin insists, reaching over Alex to open the door, giving him a boost inside as Alex turns to get on his back, reaching down to frantically unbutton his jeans, a low groan pulled from him at the sight of Guerin climbing in after him and closing the door behind him before he yanks off his shirt and pins Alex to the bench seat. 

Alex tries to elicit lust-provoked confessions, he swears he does.

It all sort of bleeds together, though.

His hands on Guerin’s body, Guerin’s mouth on his hip, sucking a mark that Alex knows will sting when he pulls his pants back on. The way that his fingers slide so neatly in Guerin’s curls and how they’re _perfect_ for tugging, that distracts him from trying to get sweet whispered nothings given up about what Guerin is really up to.

Eventually, he stops trying.

Alex tells himself it’s not a failure. People confess all kinds of things during the post-coital glow, which means it’s not unfair for Alex to allow himself to sink into the moment, trying to ignore how easy it is with Guerin, and how this feels better than every time with his last ex-boyfriend.

Fuck, he’s not spending much time on that thought.

Instead, he gives himself over wholly to this moment, pinning Guerin down by his strong, broad shoulders to the bench seat of his beat-up Chevy, and digs into the glove compartment when urged. He takes a moment to fumble in his search, playing at a struggle, but there’s nothing else in there other than a car registration for Michael Guerin, the lube, and the condoms.

“Come on, please,” Guerin begs. “I need you in me.”

There goes the rest of Alex’s control. 

Time fades away from him, while Alex’s baser urges take over. There’s an element of pride to this, too. If he’s going to get what he wants out of Guerin, this needs to be memorable as hell, and Alex throws himself into it fully, not restrained at all.

It’s incredible. It’s the two of them sparking and igniting, like a sun going supernova, and Alex thinks that he might be good, but when matched with Guerin, he’s _great_.

It’s an hour later before Alex sits up again, his hair wrecked, his cheeks flushed, and his body preemptively sore. Guerin’s still sprawled out, naked and absently stroking his chest, grinning at Alex with a sleepy, happy look.

“You do this often?”

“What, pick up librarians and then get fucked in the parking lot of the local bar? Nah,” Guerin admits, laughing brightly. “You only got to town recently, though. How long have you been here? How many missed opportunities have I had?” 

“Three weeks. You may not believe it, but librarian jobs aren’t really in heavy demand,” Alex mumbles, turning to cover Guerin’s body with his own, stretching himself out to lay on top of him fully, eager to get to the part of the mission he’s been working towards -- post-coital confessions that will break open the case.

“I believe it,” Guerin agrees. “I thought ours was just a disembodied voice over the loudspeaker until you turned up.” 

Alex hums softly as he lets his fingers slide through Guerin’s hair, finally taking in the old beat-up Chevy that they’re in. 

“This yours?”

“She’s my pride and joy, yup,” Guerin confirms.

Something’s off about it. If Guerin is moving product in the form of luxury cars, why wouldn’t he be driving something like that himself? Or maybe he knows better than to shit where he eats, keeping the cars for the clients and the junk for himself while pocketing the money. 

“So what about you? Have you been in Roswell long?”

“Since I can remember,” Guerin admits, letting out a pleased noise when Alex digs his fingers with a little more firmness into Guerin’s scalp, practically putty in his hands. 

“And the truck?” Alex prods. 

“Yup,” Guerin snorts, “had her about as long as I can remember, too.”

“You never thought you’d want something shinier, something a little sleeker to drive around town?” 

There’s a very long pause, with Guerin looking at him speculatively in the moonlight that spills on them through the windshield. Instantly, Alex wonders what it is that he’s said wrong. 

“Why?” Guerin finally asks. “You got a hookup or something?”

Shit. Does he know who Alex really is? Did he overplay his hand? 

Guerin starts redressing, reaching for his jeans from the floor of the truck, and Alex instantly knows that this isn’t going the way he’d wanted it to. He tamps down the disappointment of seeing Guerin putting his pants back on, but worse is the knowledge that other than some background, he hasn’t really managed to get anything out of him. No confession, no ‘can I tell you something’, and no real leads. 

Alex takes the hint, getting dressed himself, even if the jeans are definitely a bit of a trial in the space he has. 

“Can I drive you home?” Guerin offers.

Alex gestures to his car sitting outside the Pony. “I drove. I shouldn’t leave the car here,” he admits, even if he’s staring hungrily at the way Guerin’s curls become disheveled when he tugs his t-shirt back on. He forces himself not to think about encores, even though he knows it would be incredible.

Besides, he needs to go back to the base of operations and if Guerin drops him off, then he’ll know where that is. 

It’s an Atlassian feat, but Alex opens the passenger side door and checks Guerin’s car for anything he might have left as he grabs his crumpled leather jacket in his hands, trying to fix his hair in the side mirror.

(You’re stalling, says the voice in his head that might not be Kyle’s, but sounds an awful lot like him.)

“Hey,” Alex calls over to him. “Will I see you around?”

“As long as you’re in town,” Guerin confirms, his eyes fixed on him as he ruffles both hands through his curls, making a wild mess of them that has Alex’s fingers twitching to put them back in place. “You’ll see me. Goodnight, library guy.”

“Alex,” he reminds him, pointedly not using the cover last name he’s been assigned.

“Goodnight, _Alex_ ,” he says, and it might be the moonlight or Alex’s post-fuck exhaustion, but he swears he sees wistful regret on Guerin’s face as he drives away. 

Clutching his crumpled jacket in his hands, Alex stares after Guerin’s departing car in the night, wondering what the hell went _wrong_. 

He’s an expert, he’s good at his job, and he still holds the record for most successful honeypot missions.

So, why is it that he feels like Michael Guerin just used _him_?

* * *

Alex tries desperately not to think about the night he’s had.

Professionally, it was a bust. He got low-level information, and his only lead happened to be about the junkyard, which was from earlier that day at the library. He gives Kyle and Rosa a quick debrief when he gets back to their base of operations and then Alex heads directly to his private room, closing the door. The bathroom is next so he can survey himself and wallow in his failure.

He checks his reflection in the mirror, turning his head to the side to see the hickey on his neck. Personally, the night had revealed old desires in Alex that he’d long thought buried, a need for someone else unlike anything he’s felt in years.

“Let me guess. I should see the other guy?” Kyle asks. Alex glares at him in the reflection of the mirror, hating that Kyle’s genuinely caught him off guard. 

Alex turns, dabbing at his neck with a cloth soaked in cold water, pushing himself away from the counter and past Kyle into the room. Rosa’s still working on tracing down the junkyard that Guerin works at, now that she’s switched gears after Alex’s unsuccessful seduction attempt.

He’s really trying not to think about that, it’s bad for his ego.

“I left most of my marks in less visible places,” he says, tenderly pressing against the hickey again, trying not to think too long about how it had felt when Guerin left it there, sparking all kinds of ridiculous lust and giddy happiness as Alex’s body had arched up to meet him. 

Kyle snorts and takes the cloth to press to his neck. “You’re too considerate.” 

“That’s me,” Alex quips. “FBI agent, considerate lover.” 

“You really didn’t get anything?”

Alex bristles at how shocked and sympathetic he sounds. The last two times he’d done this, he’d managed to get good intel on people, places, and it had been enough to break the case open. He’d _hinted_ at the prospect of a flashy car and Guerin clammed up. “I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to follow the lead we do have. Rosa, anything?” 

“Something, I think. Sanders Junkyard, where Guerin seems to hang out, even though it looks like he’s paid under the table because we don’t have employment slips on record,” Rosa says, peering over her shoulder. “We have the address. You want me to go check it out?”

“No,” he says, his failure from the failed honeypot affecting his judgment. “I’ll take this one,” he says, hastily grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. 

Rosa hands him a slip of paper with the address, staring him down.

“Did you really go completely bust on the guy?”

He doesn’t even dignify that with an answer. Alex shoves his earpiece back in and grabs his keys to head out to investigate Sanders’ Junkyard. 

The drive over settles Alex’s mind a little, but not enough. He still keeps running through all the ways tonight could have gone instead, hating that his mind is also keen on bringing up the option where Alex had dropped his earpiece into a glass of water, invited himself over to Michael’s place, and made his excuses for it in the morning.

By the time he pulls up to the junkyard, it’s past midnight.

New day, new chance at a break in this case. He peers through the windshield for signs of life, loading up his gun with ammo, and reaches for his phone to tuck into his back pocket. The key here is going in quiet, in case anyone’s around.

“Guys? Anything?”

_We have a report there’s been movement in the junkyard. This might be your chance for a bust. Copy back with a report at 0100 to let us know you’re safe._

“Copy,” says Alex, gently closing the door of his truck as he gets a hand on his gun and heads into the junkyard, grateful for the moon high in the sky. 

There’s just so much shit lying around and he worries he’s going to end up tripping and breaking his leg on something. It’s slowing him down, but he sees a structure ahead -- like some kind of hangar that’s seen better days and if Alex were a betting man, he’d suspect the cars are being kept there. Alex keeps moving, using only the moonlight to guide him, praying that there are no junkyard dogs kicking around.

His luck runs out a few minutes later, but it’s not dogs or an alarm system that gives him away.

It’s a goddamn stray piece of metal sitting precariously on top of a barrel, clattering down and causing a landslide of parts and a cacophony of noise. 

“Shit,” he hisses, hearing footsteps nearby. He staggers to the side where he can take cover behind a piece of metallic siding, watching a figure stalking through the darkness towards him. He gets his hand on his gun, taking the safety off as he slowly lifts it, worried that his lead into the junkyard just turned into a dangerous standoff with the members of the car ring. 

The shadowy figure is too far for Alex to get a clean look, obscured by frosted and broken glass, but one thing is certain.

He might not know who it is, but he knows what a gun in someone’s hand looks like.

“Hands up! This is the FBI!” he shouts as he pivots to take aim, gun up, ready to disarm the man before someone gets shot.

“What the fuck?” 

Alex can’t see the figure in the darkness, but the voice sounds familiar. The sound of a gun’s safety being taken off is even more familiar in a bone-chilling way. 

“You put your hands up! Local police!”

“What?” Alex realizes that echoing the confusion makes him seem stupid, but he doesn’t know what the hell is going on. 

This is his territory, his turf, _his_ case. Some local precinct isn’t about to barge in and ruin it for him. The fury in him builds and he steps forward, ready to fight for what rightfully belongs to him. Anger turns to shock when the figure steps out into the stream of moonlight and Alex realizes that he knows that body _intimately_ well.

“Guerin?” he demands. “What the hell are you doing, masquerading as local PD?”

“Me?” Guerin snorts. “That’s rich, coming from you. What about you, posing as an FBI agent?”

“Because I _am_ FBI!”

“Oh, come on! I had intel that the drugs were being run through stolen cars in town and the library was the contact point for the deals. Alex Manes, codebreaker in the Air Force with a sudden and inexplicable discharge on his papers suddenly starts working there? You’d better believe there were a dozen flags.” 

Alex shakes his head, sputtering. “I left the Air Force to join the FBI and they wanted it quiet!” he says, going for his badge, but the gleam of moonlight on a silver gun stops him. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m here to investigate mob activity moving luxury cars through Roswell and Michael Guerin, local mechanic, got flagged!”

“I’m undercover in the junkyard because I used to be a mechanic here before my brother got me a gig with local police!”

Wait, does this mean that Alex seduced the _local police_ for intel?

Worse, does this mean that Alex hadn’t been good enough to get this secret out? 

His ego is wounded.

“Wait, the bar,” Guerin says, approaching with a few cautious steps. “What was that, then?”

“Honeypot trap. Look, can I show you my badge?”

Guerin nods, stepping into the light. He hasn’t lowered his gun, but Alex feels safe enough to pull out his badge to show his identification. 

“I showed you mine. Your turn.”

Guerin shakes his head and digs into his jacket for a wallet-fold, flashing a deputy’s badge. “Honeypot, huh? Max didn’t call it that. He just got all uncomfortable as he talked about how you seemed to be interested in me, and that I should use my wiles to see if we could squeeze information out of you.”

Finally, he lowers the gun.

Alex can finally breathe.

The anger hasn’t gone away, indignation joining along as its merry friend. “You think you were seducing _me_?”

“Uh,” Guerin scoffs, like it’s obvious. “Yup.” 

“Wait,” Alex says, as the pieces click together. “My lead was you! You were the one I was after!”

“Yeah, right back at you. How did you think I knew you were gonna be here?” 

Alex feels a devastating blow coming on, trying to think of all the times Guerin’s touched him recently, but they were both naked in the truck and too involved to plant a bug. Frowning, he reaches behind his ear to feel something pressed to the back of his neck, sleek and small. He pries it off, and while it might not look like anything the FBI has in stock, he knows a tracking device when he sees one. “...How?”

“Resident genius,” Guerin brags. “I bugged you, tonight. I tried at the library, but you ducked away before I could get it there. Here…” He reaches for Alex. 

Against his better judgment, he doesn’t flinch or pull away. He lets Guerin peel off the bug from his skin, glaring at it for betraying his location. He shivers, the wind brushing over his newly sensitized skin, and tries to summon up irritation at Guerin getting one up on him, but the best he can muster is a grudging respect.

“So what do we do now?” Alex asks, despondent and dejected and hating that he’s going to have to call this in. His biggest, best lead turns out to have been state police the whole time. Not only did he sleep with a local cop to get information (and liked it, fuck, did he like it), but he’s got no information to go on. “What’s the plan?”

Luckily, Guerin’s got a solution to put that off.

“We drink.” 

“First,” Alex says, calmly, “You’re coming with me until I have evidence that you are who you say you are.”

Then, yeah, they’ll drink, preferably until Alex’s liver decides to conk out for the night.

* * *

“Here,” Michael says, pushing a bottle of beer into Alex’s view.

He’s been sulking at a table in the Pony ever since they got back from the motel, where Kyle and Rosa ran a background check on Michael Truman, which is his real name. Guerin, apparently, had been the cover name, though Alex is having a hard time separating him from that name, especially as it’s what the locals know him as. 

The bar is going to close soon, but right now, he wants to drink. 

“So, out there in the truck,” Alex braves the worst, bringing up the giant rainbow elephant in the room, “was that all a show? Some kind of ploy?”

“I wasn’t lying much, at any point. Max did suggest I try and flirt with you, but the truth is, once I saw you, I figured that getting to know you would let me figure you out, and if you turned out to be a bad guy, I’d arrest you, but my gut didn’t say you were. I figured you were low-level in the organization and I could use you for information. I didn’t think you were all that bad.”

Funny, Alex had been having similar doubts.

“Look, can I say it was real? I don’t know,” Michael admits. “I half-lied to you about my name and part of my job. I do work there weekends and I used to be Michael Guerin before I found my mother and changed my name to match hers. I’d like to say it was all real, but I don’t know that.”

Alex tries not to let that sting, because he’d felt like there was a real connection.

Before he can open his mouth to bail and get out of there, Michael keeps going, “The thing is, inside that truck, when neither of us were talking, that was real. Every kiss, every touch, every moment, I couldn’t fake that if I were the best actor in the world. I’m kind of hoping maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink and we can figure out the rest. Besides, just because we’re not each other’s bad guy, doesn’t mean there isn’t one out there. How about some federal and local cooperation?” he suggests, beaming brightly.

Alex isn’t sure what to do. Michael’s not pretending that this is easy and he’s acknowledging that he doesn’t _know_ whether they really connected. His ego still stings with the failure of not putting the pieces together, but also bristling from the hurt of thinking any of it might not have been as real to Michael as it was for Alex.

He’s right about one thing, though. 

In that truck, Alex felt more alive than he has in years, and he knows that no matter what he’d told himself he was in there for, it didn’t matter. The truth is that he’d felt a connection to Michael unlike any he’d ever experienced. 

“You don’t want to know if it was real for me?”

“I called you a brick wall earlier,” Michael admits, sipping his beer. “You are,” he confesses. “But no one, not even the best actor in the world, kisses the way you did when you were with me, without it being at least somewhat real.”

“And that’s enough for you to go on?”

“It’s definitely enough for me to take a chance, now that I know you’re not running drugs, Alex Manes.”

“Same,” Alex admits, feeling breathless by the look Michael’s giving him. “Now that I know you’re not just running cars for the mob, Michael Truman.” 

Alex doesn’t think he’s ever made anyone smile like that before. The giddy joy on Michael’s face is a wonder, and he decides to take hold of that inch and stretch it into a mile. He reaches across the table to tangle their fingers together while Michael’s ducking his head down to look at the table, like he’s trying to hide that glorious bright happiness of his. 

“Partners?” Alex offers, ducking down to catch his eye, finding that he’s grinning too.

He’s so tired, punch-drunk, but Michael’s glee is infectious, and Alex finds himself grinning like a dope, knowing that this is the best he’s ever felt after a huge failure in his case. 

“Let’s find us some bad guys,” Michael agrees, squeezing Alex’s fingers right back.

* * *

_Six Months Later_

“Agent Manes, we have another case for you.”

The Roswell luxury car ring is a distant memory now. 

It had earned Alex his ticket back to the main office and had even netted him a bonus for the tidy job he’d done, along with a strong positive commendation that came from the local police on his file. Between him and Michael, it had taken them another week to discover local lawyer Noah Bracken, model citizen, was making most of his cash on the side moving cars and profiting off it in the stock market. 

Alex is thrilled to be back in the office, where he doesn’t have to work undercover at the library every day, and he doesn’t even miss Michael that much.

How could he, when Michael spends every weekend in Albuquerque with him?

He looks up to his assigning agent and sees the thin file that she’s dropping on his desk. It’s a little lighter reading than usual, which intrigues him. “Bank robbery?” he asks, once he’s opened the case file. Then, he sees the location. “Liz,” he says, calmly. “This is in Roswell.”

“It is,” she agrees, perched on his desk with a calm smile. “Kyle and Rosa told me how much you enjoyed your last assignment down there.” She keeps tapping her fingers on his desk, smiling mischievously. “These bank robberies have been happening over multiple states and the bills from them keep showing up in Roswell, but our leads are weak, as you’ll see from the light information packet. It might take you _months_ of work on the ground to help us build up the case. Are you up for that?”

He thinks of last weekend, waking up to Michael serving him breakfast in bed, clad in nothing but a pair of Alex’s boxers. He thinks about the way Michael had curled up with him while he read one of his romance novels and Alex grazed on bacon. He thinks of Michael’s cozy home in Roswell and the thick blankets they curl up under while they bundle up in his backyard and watch movies on his homemade projector. He thinks of drowsy evening kisses, bright morning ones, and the steady touch of Michael’s fingertips sliding along his skin.

“I think I could handle that,” he says, reaching out for the file. 

“Funny, I thought you’d say that,” Liz replies, pushing off his desk. “Say hi to Michael for me!” she says in passing. 

“Come and say it yourself, so you can flirt with his cute brother,” Alex calls after her, but she’s already gone. He runs his finger over the information in the file, then reaches for his cell to call Michael, balancing it between shoulder and ear as he picks up his things to head out. “Hey, Michael. Guess what?”

He grabs his keys, his bag, and starts making his great escape.

“I’m coming home.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [Podcath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Podcath/pseuds/Podcath) Log in to view. 




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